


Epiphany

by StraySpirit



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I, Dark Souls III
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25990063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StraySpirit/pseuds/StraySpirit
Summary: Gwynsen finds Ornstein by the fire at night during a dragon hunt.
Relationships: Lord Gwyn's Firstborn/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, The Nameless King/Dragon Slayer Ornstein
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic, so please excuse me if there is any mistake and I hope you enjoy it!

Gwynsen hears them again, the reverberating wail piercing through the bleak autumn air, the desperate cry for help and mercy dwindling into nothingness as he thrusts his spear into the beast’s skull. But silence doesn’t come, like he always feared: instead, screams started coming from all around him, growing from scattered noises to intolerable bellow that fills his senses.

He wakes before the nightmare could consume him. 

His brain takes a few seconds to register the white ceiling of the tent, then suddenly he realises he is indeed back in the realm of reality. He sighs, gets up from the sweat-drenched bed and dresses himself, knowing he’s already gotten all the sleep he could despite the night still being young. He doesn’t even regret it - his mind is as clear as the first ray of sunlight in the morning.

When he walks out of his tent he finds Ornstein sitting alone by the crackling fire, the light dances off his golden armour, outlining the silhouette of his body fitted tightly under. His long hair is tied up high against the back of his head just as usual, and Gwynsen can’t help but wonders what it would look like if it were down: lets it flow out along his back, perhaps even lays it out on the white bed sheet on his bed and - he catches his thoughts before they could wander off any further into places they don’t belong, at least not now when he’s out in the open, away from the privacy his tent offers.

He doesn’t make his presence known until he decides he’s drunk in every detail of the sight in front of him. There is nothing out of ordinary, of course - but the very being of the knight himself has already surpassed anything that could be described as ordinary.

His approaching footsteps startle Ornstein, who visibly tenses up and reaches for his cross spear immediately. Gwynsen laughs, “Relax, Ornstein.” He calls out before he makes any more movement, “It’s me.”

“Gwynsen,” he recognises him and greets him back, his eyes light up at the sight of him, or so Gwynsen would like to think - he could well be mistaking the reflection of the fire for sparks of excitement in the knight’s amber eyes. “You’re up early.”

“Thought I’d keep my knight company on his lonely guard duty.” He might’ve put a bit too much emphasis on _my_. But he pretends it was unintentional, like he pretends this is the real reason for his insomnia.

“Very sweet of you.” Ornstein doesn’t hide the smile in his voice. “But really, you should go back to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“We’re riding back to Anor Londo in the afternoon. Worry not, I won’t fall asleep on the horseback.”

Ornstein gives him an unconvinced look, but doesn’t argue with him. He laughs again and makes his way around the rock the knight is sitting on as the latter scoots over to make space for him. He sits down beside him, careful to leave enough space between them so their legs aren’t touching - He’s so uncharacteristically cautious about small things like this these days, as if they pose bigger threats than the dragons ever could. True enough, the dragons don’t send the God of War’s heart flying by merely breathing next to him.

“Won’t the feast tire you? You know it’s bound to happen in the night after we return.”

Gwynsen groans. Ornstein’s right, his lord father loves extravagant parties after dragon hunts, to celebrate their victory against the despicable beasts, however insignificant. They are their - they are _Gwyn’s_ sworn enemy after all. 

“As long as my father’s speech doesn’t go on for too long, I will be fine.” He says honestly, “Do not lie to me, Sir Ornstein. I know the speech bores you just the same.”

The knight chuckles. “Can’t say I don’t prefer the feasting itself by a great deal,” He admits, “Oh, you’ve got me missing the sweet taste of alcohol. I could really use some right now.”

“How long have you been up, anyway?” Gwynsen asks and turns his gaze over to him, not for any particular reason other than that it seems like a good chance to steal a look from the golden knight. His face is lit up by the flame and given a warm orange hue, highlighting the curve of his lips.

“Not too long,” Ornstein replies, “Though I could’ve lost track of time. It’s rather peaceful and quiet tonight.”

Gwynsen hums in agreement. Their ambience is almost too quiet even to the trained ears of soldiers like them who are especially good at picking up small noises, and the memory of his nightmare threatens to creep up again. He shudders ever so slightly and wishes it goes unnoticed by Ornstein. He doesn’t want to worry him.

Yet Ornstein picks up on it, _of course_ he does. “Are you alright?” He asks with genuine concern.

He feels Ornstein’s inquisitive eyes on him. “Yeah, just…” _It’s a bit too cold_? What a blatant lie that would be. The heir of sunlight does not get bothered by the chill air, for he himself is the source of warmth that constantly gives off heat, just like the sun. “Had some unpleasant thoughts. Nightmares.”

He settles for the truth. Ornstein is too perceptive to be fooled by any of his white lies, always so quick to see through his pretence, like no one else does. He doesn’t know if he should be exhilarated or worried by the fact that Ornstein knows him this well, but he does know that he feels like a fumbling young boy training under Gwyn who’s too clumsy to hold a bow properly all over again.

“Is that so,” He speaks after a few moments of silence, with his gaze still fixated upon Gwynsen, “I suppose the Gods are not exempt from nightmares either, huh?”

He appreciates the jokiness in Ornstein’s tone, yet something in his voice tells him that he is not unaccustomed to nightmares himself. Were it with anyone else, Gwynsen would let his brash curiosity take over and ask them about their experience on the said topic; but that is not something he is going to do with Ornstein. Ornstein, much like a wary cat, refuses to let his guard down even with people he’s most familiar with. Gwynsen is only lucky enough to gain his trust after the many nights and days they spent together as close comrades, and he is afraid of ruining this hard-earned trust by stepping on boundaries he shouldn’t be.

“Unfortunately so.” He only says, letting out low laughter in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

“Talk to me about it if you’d like.” He sounds earnest, “It’s better to let it out.”

Gwynsen feels pressure coming from his left arm, then suddenly becomes hyper-aware that it’s Ornstein’s gauntleted hand coming to rest atop of it, the cold sensation of metal prodding his skin through the thin layer of fabric of his sleeve, like needles. He turns to meet his gaze, white-hot in the gentle night breeze, glaring with something other than just concern: it’s a poorly concealed strong desire, not unlike that of his own. And Gwynsen knows - it is not an offering of kindness but a plea for intimacy. 

He steadies himself and thinks briefly of covering the hand with his own, then with all his courage he does it without a second thought. Physical contact with others isn’t unusual to him, but like everything else, it’s different with Ornstein. He squeezes it softly and hopes Ornstein feels it through the rigid structure of the gauntlet. He doesn’t know if he held onto it a bit too long for what is usually considered appropriate between friends, but he is certain that Ornstein lets his fingers linger longer than necessary when he withdraws his hand and breaks the contact.

Then wordlessly he nods and begins telling his story, of the terrible howls of anguish that wouldn’t cease, of the mountain of headless corpses, of the shadows that haunt his dreams. At one point he is sure he’s simply uttering gibberish, as the words flow out of his mind virtually unprocessed. But Ornstein listens so intently, his zealous eyes encouraging him to keep talking, like there is nothing more intriguing than him in this world. That, and the fact that Ornstein’s hand finds his make him question if he’s slipped back into the dream world, for he has only dared imagine such feverish scenarios in his deepest slumber. 

“You’re shaking.” He explains quietly.

“Huh. I am.” Gwynsen looks down to his left hand which is being gripped gently by the other man, only now realises it is in fact trembling, though he isn’t sure whether what Ornstein is doing is calming it down or simply adding more fuel to the fire. _Does he always hold people’s hands when they’re shaking?_ He hears himself wondering at the back of his mind, lacking the nerve to voice it aloud.

“No. Only with you.” Ornstein says.

“... _What?_ ”

“I’m answering your question,” Ornstein tells him matter-of-factly, “You were asking if I do this to everyone.”

“No I didn’t. I was only thinking about it.” He blurts out before he could stop himself through his frantic heartbeat - it isn’t a defence at all but only makes matters worse.

“But I heard it.”

“You’re lying.”

“You do know you have the tendency of saying what’s on your mind out loud, right?”

_Fuck. Right._ “Pardon me. Pray tell that was the first time I did it in front of you.” 

Much to Gwynsen’s horror he doesn’t deny nor confirm it and instead steers the conversation, “Well in any case you got your answer, I don’t. I’m glad you asked.”

Truthfully, the answer doesn’t come as a surprise but it is rather expected, though Gwynsen hadn’t realised it until now. The reasons are clear: He saw them, the yearning stares cast at his way during meetings, the lingering touches when they pass each other in the long marble hallways, the flirtatious undertone in the sentences they exchange whenever they’re alone - all coming from Ornstein to none but him. Oh, but how he turned a blind eye on them, how he refused to believe that the loyal, honourable perfect knight could possibly reciprocate his feelings.

Maybe Gwyn was right when he called him foolish.

“Ornstein,” He finally decides, “I have something to tell you too.”

“I think I know what it is.” Ornstein whispers. He lowers his gaze and _God_ , are his lashes beautiful - long and slightly curling upwards, coloured faintly by the characteristic red that reminds him of wildfire. He’s never had the chance to observe them this up close, Gwynsen thinks through his dizzy mind: they are dangerously close to each other.

Without any conscious thoughts Gwynsen leans in like he has dreamt of time after time, the rest happens so naturally that it might as well be the thousandth time they’ve done it. His tongue slides into Ornstein’s eager mouth effortlessly where it is met with Ornstein’s, they dance together in a style not dissimilar to that of their routine sparring - they anticipate each other’s next move with neither having to say a word. His mind swells with the taste of Ornstein, which he savours every last bit of like a starving man. He presses their bodies together as he wraps his arms tightly around Ornstein’s torso, while Ornstein’s hand finds its way to the back of his head where it rakes through the long strands of his hair. He almost gasps for how tiny his knight’s waist feels, even for a man his size.

They pull apart from the kiss after what feels like an eternity (or it could be not any longer than a few seconds, Gwynsen cannot tell), both start giggling like young trainees who just shared their first kiss behind the barracks when no one was looking.

“Aren’t you good at it, My Prince.” Ornstein teases after calming himself down from the wave of laughter. Gwynsen feels the heat radiating off of the knight’s still wet lips, which are inches away from his jaw as he tilts his head up to look into the prince’s eyes.

“As though I couldn’t say the same about you, Sir Knight.” 

He tightens his embrace gently. Ornstein laughs again, draws a long breath and rests his head at the crook of Gwynsen’s neck, “Oh Gwynsen,” He chants his name, his hot breath brushes against the god’s bare skin.

“Ornstein.” He says in return, as he raises his hand to caress the knight’s cheek. Then for a while they fall wordless, only the regular rhythm of their breathings remain. He hasn’t been this content in years.

“Gwynsen,” He had just begun to wonder if the knight fell asleep on him when he suddenly sits up and calls his name again, his tone solemn yet affectionate, “Prithee remember me in your sleep, for it is the last thing I’d wish to leave you to face such atrocities alone. I shall follow you anywhere, even to places darker than the abyss.”

He blinks. _This must be what it is like to be in love_ \- he thinks. He might already have for a long time _._ “Thank you, Ornstein,” He only says fondly, “It shall be our promise then.”

The knight smiles. Gwynsen’s heart melts in it, and beats for the new found meanings that are Ornstein, their promise, and the many more shared moments filled with secret happiness only known to them that are surely to come.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @himbonk


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